Crossed Quills (19 page)

 “I want to hear all about the Hollands’ dinner party. Besides, I shall be glad of a rest. My last partner stepped on my toes twice.”

 “Splendid!”

 “Sir!” Pippa exclaimed in mock affront.

 He grinned. “My apologies to your toes, and my sympathies. Mrs Lisle, may we join you, ma’am? I have one or two messages for you from colleagues of your late husband.” He handed Pippa to a chair next but one to her mother and seated himself between them. “First, ladies,” he said portentously, “my news: the Lord High Chancellor has set a date for my speech!”

 “Already?” said Pippa. “When?”

 “Three weeks from tomorrow. That is time enough, is it not?”

 “Oh yes, plenty. I was afraid you were going to say tomorrow. As Lord Eldon is a dyed-in-the-Woolsack Tory, he might have tried to catch you unprepared.”

 “He might, but I doubt he expects my speech to have much effect. True, I am a dark horse, but he has hedged his bets by....” Taking in the ladies’ blank expressions, Lord Selworth paused.

 “A dark horse?” asked Mrs Lisle, bemused.

 “I beg your pardon, ma’am, a metaphor from the Turf—horse racing. Not that I would have you suppose I make a habit of throwing away my blunt on the races, but I picked up some of the lingo when I was looking for cattle at Tattersall’s. A dark horse is one about which little is known.”

 “Like your ability as an orator,” Pippa said. “Hedging one’s bets is wagering both for and against, to avoid losing badly, is it not? I have seen it used metaphorically.”

 “Are you accusing me of unoriginality, Miss Lisle?”

 “Never! On the contrary, Lord Selworth, you know I have been at some pains to restrain your excessive originality. What has the Chancellor done?”

 “Put me last on his schedule for the day, after a debate on whether or not to raise the duty on tea by a farthing.”

 “A subject so profoundly uninteresting to the wealthy Lords,” said Pippa, “that everyone will have fallen asleep or gone home by the time you stand up.”

 “Precisely.”

 “What a shame!” said Mrs Lisle sympathetically. “Nonetheless, you must both do your best. Make it rousing enough and some of them will wake up and take note.”

 “We shall try, ma’am, I promise you, shall we not, Miss Lisle? Now, let me see, Mr Thomas Creevey, Mr Henry Grey Bennet, and Mr Henry Brougham asked me to convey their respects. Oh, and Sir Francis Burdett.” He passed on brief messages from those gentlemen encountered at the Hollands’. “I took the liberty of telling them you are residing at my sister’s. Creevey will call without delay, and the other three as soon as their duties in the Commons allow.”

 “Mr Bennet is a true reformer, is he not, in spite of being a son of Lord Tankerville?” Pippa asked.

 “I’d go so far as to call him a Radical. It is a pity he is not heir to the earldom. I made the acquaintance of all sorts of interesting people at Holland House, and the conversation was fascinating.” Lord Selworth described the people he had met and repeated some of the talk. “But I cannot do it justice. I wish you had been there.”

 “So do I,” said Pippa, “except that Mr Debenham expressed surprise on seeing you none the worse for the experience. Nor have you explained your abhorrence of the word ‘squeeze.’“

 “Squeeze!” He laughed. “Lady Holland is noted for always inviting more people than will comfortably fit at her table. I am told she once ordered Luttrell to make room for some late arrival, whereupon he replied, ‘It certainly must be made, because it doesn’t exist!’“

 “If you were jammed elbow to elbow, Lord Selworth,” said Mrs Lisle, “I hope you had enough to eat, for the refreshments here are shocking. Nothing but bread and butter and cake, and the cake I had was quite stale.”

 “There was plenty of food, ma’am, though eating was not easy! Lady Holland is a splendid hostess, in spite of a tendency to be imperious. She doesn’t take snuff at a witty retort, however. When she commanded Sydney Smith to ring the bell for her, he asked if she wanted him to sweep the floor, too, yet afterwards she was perfectly affable to him. And though she likes to rule the conversation, the result is so excellent one cannot object.”

 So different, Pippa thought, from the tittle-tattle which passed as conversation elsewhere. With the Season scarcely under way, she was already growing tired of gossip, scandal, fashion and sport. Although this Season was by no means the nightmare her first had been, she would just have soon have been back at Sweetbriar Cottage—if it were not for Lord Selworth and his need for help with his speech.

 “Even if I end up addressing an empty House at midnight,” he said softly, turning from Mrs Lisle to Pippa with a smile, as Kitty and Millicent and their partners approached, “I know it will be a good speech, because I have Prometheus to help me.”

* * * *

 By the time Pippa saw Lord Selworth next afternoon, his mood of elation had worn off and he was less sanguine. After making his bow to Bina and Mrs Lisle and briefly greeting some other callers, he came straight to Pippa.

 “Is there any point in working so hard,” he grumbled in a disgruntled undertone, slumping beside her on a sofa in the drawing room, “when I may have no audience? I tried to put pen to paper this morning and not a thought came into my head.”

 “You were dancing until three,” she pointed out. “Mama has forbidden us to rise before noon when we are out so late, which is why she told you not to call this morning. I am sure you are no less in need of sleep because you are a gentleman.”

 “Very likely,” he said ruefully. “I shall lose my mind, and the roses in my cheeks.”

 “Mama threatened Kitty and Millicent with losing their roses,” said Pippa, chuckling, “and me with losing my mind. I cannot spare it, for I do not mean to let you give up. Papa made many a speech which was little heeded, but he always put just as much effort into the next.”

 “I stand rebuked.” He sighed. “You are right, of course. Politics requires perseverance above all else, particularly in a member of the Opposition.”

 “And a minority within the Opposition. Let us take a holiday today, though. Three weeks is more than enough time to finish. We shall do better tomorrow after you have slept your fill.”

 “An excellent idea. I don’t wish to overwork Prometheus and lose ‘his’ assistance.”

 Millicent came up then, having just bid some visiting young ladies farewell. She was obviously bursting with news.

 “Wynn, did you know,” she began in a conspiratorial whisper, “Lady Gwendolyn just told me, when I mentioned that you dined at Holland House yesterday, and I promise I shan’t repeat it in company because it is just like Lady Jersey only worse and Bina was so angry when I talked about Lady Jersey, so even though Lady Holland is not a Patroness, I don’t mean to tell anyone but you and Pippa. Kitty was with me, so she heard.”

 “Heard what?” her brother demanded impatiently. “What is this about Lady Jersey?”

 “Oh, you were not there, were you? Lord Jersey, too, really, only he was not yet earl, I think.” Millicent frowned in doubt, then her face cleared. “Anyway it is always the female who is blamed. They ran away together, and so did Lord and Lady Holland, only she was already married to someone else! She is divorced!”

 “Good lord, Millie, this is ancient history. Bina is quite correct, you are going to land in the suds—land us all in the suds—if you start to rake up old scandals about important people. Leave it to the tabbies who have nothing better to do and don’t care whom they offend.”

 “Lady Gwendolyn told us,” Millicent said with an injured pout. “I said I shall not say a word to anyone but you.”

 “See that you don’t,” commanded Lord Selworth, “for I won’t put up with a scandalmonger in the family.”

 Thus castigated by her adored brother, Millicent was for once downcast, but only momentarily. A new group of callers was announced and she went off to greet them with a flood of blithe chatter.

 “Seed sown upon stony ground, I fear,” Lord Selworth said wryly.

 “She will not repeat the story of Lady Holland,” Pippa said, “but there is no guessing what gossip she may pick up next, and without a specific prohibition....She does not deliberately disobey, you know. When she opens her mouth, she truly seems to have little control over what comes out, as if there is some sort of filter missing in her brain. Fortunately she is most good-natured, never actuated by spite, and she is more interested in the latest modes than anything else.”

 “Thank heaven for small mercies. If she favoured political gossip, I’d be sitting constantly upon thorns!”

* * * *

 Wynn found himself too busy to worry about Millicent’s rattling tongue. He worked on his speech with Pippa. He attended debates in the House of Lords, both to learn what was going on and to listen to how his peers framed their speeches—many of them deadly dull as well as misguided, he decided. He hobnobbed with Radical and Reformist members of the House of Commons, which gave him new ideas. Pippa had to be ruthless to make him stick to the points they had decided on for his own speech.

 Missing the frequent exercise of a country life, he made sure to ride every day and often walked with Pippa and the girls in the parks. A friend introduced him to Gentleman Jackson, in whose boxing saloon Wynn began to study the noble art of pugilism, one of the few subjects in which Pippa expressed no interest whatsoever. Indeed, she positively forbade him to mention it!

 The ballrooms of Mayfair and St James’s also provided a good deal of exercise. Though Millicent was well and truly launched, no longer in need of her brother’s support, Wynn continued to escort his sisters and the Lisles to dances, routs, Venetian breakfasts, soirées, musicales, plays and the Opera. Card parties he considered above and beyond the call of duty. Cards were for amusing the children in the long, dark evenings of a country winter. Bad enough that politeness occasionally forced him to play at Boodle’s.

 He found himself dining more rarely in Charles Street, more frequently with his new political cronies, at Boodle’s or Brooks’s or private houses. At the latter, women were usually present, though less often heard. Wynn wished he had Pippa beside him, with her firm grasp of principles and her cleverness with words.

 Life without her would be flat indeed. He was tempted to propose to her at once, but the prospect of adding the complications of a betrothal to his already over-full days deterred him.

 After he had given his maiden speech, he would have time to do the thing properly. That day was almost upon him.

 “Tomorrow, ain’t it?” asked Gil Chubb on Tuesday morning at breakfast, spearing a piece of sausage. “The great day?”

 “Thursday, you clunch.”

 “Ah, lucky I asked. I’ll be there in the gallery, all right and tight.”

 “You may be the only person there,” Wynn said gloomily, “or the only one awake, assuming you manage to stay awake.”

 “I’ll keep pinching myself,” Gil promised. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything, but I’m glad I shan’t have to miss Almack’s tomorrow. Lady Jersey gave Miss Kitty leave to waltz last week and she promised to save me a waltz. She always stands up with me at every ball, you know. Deuced kind of her when there’s so many clamouring for the honour.”

 “She is popular, but her lack of fortune is bound to knock out lots of your competitors as suitors,” Wynn encouraged him. “Ah, here’s the post. “

 “My lord.” Clark proffered a silver salver with two piles of letters and cards. Wynn scooped up the nearest and leafed through as Gil accepted his pile.

 “A letter from Mama and one from my bailiff. Might be trouble, I’ll read ‘em later. Invitations—one, two, three—lord, at least half a dozen. Hallo, what’s this?”

 The folded sheet bore the impressive imprint of the Lord High Chancellor of England. Wynn carefully slit the seal, with a twinge of misgiving. It must be confirmation of the date and time, but he had not expected....

 “Devil take it, they’ve postponed it! Another three weeks,” he groaned, jumping up and taking a rapid turn about the room to relieve his feelings. “Another three weeks on tenterhooks, and the damned speech growing stale.”

 “Stale?” said Gil uncomprehendingly. “Do sit down, there’s a good chap. You’ll ruin my digestion, and your own.”

 Wynn subsided into his chair. “I had just got to the point where I could deliver it practically verbatim. Miss Lisle says if one practises too much it begins to sound mechanical. Blast Eldon!”

 “Dare say Miss Lisle will know what to do.”

 “Yes.” Wynn jumped up again. “I’m off to Charles Street to tell her.”

 “Hold hard, old fellow! Too early by half.”

 Consulting the clock, Wynn said, “Half an hour. By the time I’ve finished dressing, walked over to Charles Street—”

 “Finish your breakfast first,” Gil urged. “Can’t make good decisions on an empty belly.”

 That reminded Wynn of Pippa’s advice to get enough sleep. He gobbled down sausages and muffins before setting off for his sister’s house.

 As always, he asked for Bina. She had pointed out long since that for a highly eligible viscount to constantly seek out an obscure spinster was bound to arouse undesirable speculation, not to mention jealousy. Fortunately he had the excuse of Pippa’s being his sister’s guest, but that façade must be maintained.

 At balls he was careful always to dance with Millicent first, and with Kitty whenever he could pry her away from her admirers. He took Bina or Mrs Lisle in to supper as often as he did Pippa. The servants knew, of course, that he spent a good deal of time closeted with Pippa, but he hoped they believed it was because she was frequently the only one at home when he called.

 “Is my sister in?” he said, he and the First Footman having reached a mutual accommodation in the matter of euphemisms.

 “The ladies have gone out, my lord.”

 “All of them?”

 “All of them, my lord,” Reuben confirmed.

 Today of all days! Wynn groaned silently. “Do you know where they went?”

 “To a ladies’ luncheon, I understand, my lord. The younger ladies are to practise for their Presentation to the Queen, God bless her.”

 “All of them?” He had thought the Miss Lisles were not to be presented.